


I look at the world and I notice it's turning

by kaydeefalls



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, M/M, Multi-Era, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Bisexual Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-04
Updated: 2007-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein are many mistakes, acts of cowardice, displays of emotion, and history repeating itself over and over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I look at the world and I notice it's turning

**Author's Note:**

> Title thanks to the Beatles, beta thanks to the most lovely Juweldom.

**c. i.**

It's nearly dawn when Remus Apparates back to his – no, _their_ – cottage, and he's hardly had a chance to be wearily impressed that he's avoided a splinching before Tonks flings herself into his arms. "I was so worried," she gasps. Her grip is like a vise.

"I think I'm going to fall over," he says, not entirely untruthfully, and she loosens her clasp somewhat, moving her arm across his shoulders in support. He breathes.

"Merlin, what was I thinking, here, sit down, I'll make you some tea, you should—"

He sits on the worn, shabby couch, as directed. "Dora."

"—really let me brew up a Restoring Potion for you, although I always did make a muck of them in school, but I could Floo Molly and—"

Remus thinks he might go mad. "No tea," he says, as firmly as possible, though given his current state of exhaustion, he doubts it's particularly commanding. "And no potions. I just need to – sit. For a moment."

"Oh," Tonks says, biting her lip, like a child caught in a misstep. _God, she's too young._ "Sorry, I don't mean to chatter on so—"

Remus feels oddly guilty. "It's all right," he tells her. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

She smiles, relieved, and he tries not to wince. She had always seemed stronger, before, impossible to faze, but Remus seems to throw her off-balance just as often as he feels out of place around her. Not for the first time, he thinks perhaps they aren't very well-matched.

No, he tells himself determinedly, he's just been alone for so long that he's simply unused to having someone else about all the time.

_You adjusted quickly enough to Sirius, when he showed up on your doorstep three years ago._

He pushes the thought aside. Tonks is looking at him expectantly, and for a moment, he can't think what she might be waiting for.

"Mad-Eye?" she prompts him, and he remembers.

"We couldn't find his body," he says, and closes his eyes so he can't see the flash of disappointment on her face. "We tried everything we could think of. I'm sorry."

She sighs quietly. "It's all right," she says, making an effort at stoicism and failing miserably. "He wouldn't have wanted you or Bill to endanger yourselves further by even trying – he always said we should just keep marching onwards and..."

Tonks is crying, he realizes, so he forces his weary body to stand and go to her. He's never really known how to comfort people, especially crying people, but he puts his arms around her awkwardly and hopes it will help. It's been a very long night. He just wants to curl up in bed and nurse his own wounds, but he can't. His world is bigger now.

His world is smaller now.

She clings to him. He feels as though the walls are closing in around him. He's slowly going to suffocate. He holds onto her anyway.

"I'm pregnant," Tonks whispers, smiling through her tears.

He can't breathe.

"Oh, god," Remus says.

*

 

**b. iii.**

"Oh, god, it's _miserable _out there," Remus says with feeling, heaving the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place shut against yet another gust of wind. He struggles with his sleet-soaked scarf, eventually abandoning it in a dank little heap at the doorstep. "Is there anywhere more inhospitable than London buried within the depths of January?"

"I long for the North Sea, myself," Sirius calls from the direction of the kitchen.

Remus winces. Not a good day, apparently, if Sirius is comparing Grimmauld Place to Azkaban. But the attempt at humor, dry though it was, is somewhat encouraging.

He shrugs off his overcoat, letting it drop alongside the discarded scarf. He wonders if this is his personal rebellion against this godforsaken house, to scatter his dripping outerwear haphazardly across the front vestibule. It's fairly pathetic. He heads for the kitchen.

Sirius is brooding over a rather tepid cup of tea. Sirius had always been a great one for brooding, even at school; but back then, it was often the precursor to a really fabulous prank, which more than made up for it. These days, it's generally just the precursor to more brooding.

"If you're not careful, your face will get stuck like that," Remus says lightly, leaning over and sniffing skeptically at the tea. "Good god, Sirius, you haven't touched a drop of that stuff for hours, have you?"

"I hate tea," Sirius grumbles. "But it's the sort of thing other people seem to like, so I thought if I made a pot, someone else would inevitably turn up to share it. You're _late_," he adds, glaring.

"I wasn't aware I was being so eagerly awaited," Remus says mildly, taking the chair next to Sirius. He slips the teacup away from Sirius, muttering a warming charm over it before taking a cautious sip. "This is fairly awful," he says, making a face. "Where'd you find it?"

Sirius waves his hand negligently. "In a cupboard somewhere."

"Merlin knows how long it's been moldering in there," Remus says, and pushes the cup away. "What've you been up to, then, besides making terrible tea?"

Sirius scowls and looks away. "All sorts. Sitting, staring into space, hexing Kreacher, sitting some more. What'd you imagine I'd been up to, locked up in this miserable prison all day?"

"It's hardly Azkaban," Remus murmurs.

Sirius sighs, settling back into full brooding mode. "It may as well be."

They sit in silence for a while. Once upon a time, there was nothing wrong with a bit of quiet between them, the comfortable sort of silence of two people who had little need of words to communicate. But lately, the silence has taken on an oppressive tone. Remus feels like the walls are closing in on them.

"Any news?" Sirius finally asks.

There is, inasmuch as there's ever any news these days. Umbridge is continuing her relentless takeover of Hogwarts. McGonagall worries for the safety of Dumbledore's position as Headmaster. Diggle and Jones have made significant progress in determining the location of a certain secret community of werewolves, which Moody thinks is led by a man named Greyback. A couple of other Order members are starting to wonder aloud if there's nothing more important Remus could be doing than baby-sit Sirius Black.

"Not really," Remus tells him. He reaches out and places his hand lightly on Sirius's.

Sirius doesn't push him away, which might be a good sign, or might just mean he's too deep in his sulk to bother noticing. The silence is suffocating. Remus stays beside him anyway.

There's nowhere else to go. They sit.

*

 

**a. vi.**

He has nowhere else to go, so he orders another drink.

It's a seedy pub in a seedy part of London, but it's dark and it's quiet and it's good enough for Remus tonight. The Muggles are celebrating Bonfire Night and the wizards are _still_ celebrating the Boy Who Lived, but no one seems to be celebrating anything in here, and that's just how Remus wants it.

He gulps down a shot of whiskey. It burns his throat, just like the last shot, and the one before it.

_They think you're the spy._

Remus had been an afterthought; in the end, he'd wound up hearing the news from the _Daily Prophet_, of all the ironies. All they'd cared about was the Boy Who Lived. No one seemed to give a toss for the Parents Who Died.

Or the Friend Who Betrayed Them.

_James and Lily, I mean; I tried to convince them otherwise, but they don't want to risk it._

Dumbledore finally sent him an owl, the day after Sirius was arrested. The letter was full of condolences and reassurances and Things To Come and other such tosh; Remus considered telling him exactly where he could stick all that manipulative bollocks, but eventually decided not to bother replying at all.

He orders another drink.

The owl from McGonagall arrived a few hours later; Remus much preferred her brand of sympathy. It had the benefit of actually ringing sincere. "You couldn't have known," she'd written. "He was so careful; none of us even suspected it."

_It's the werewolf thing, I know better but they don't, especially James and Sirius – pureblood prejudices, you know._

He hadn't seen Sirius for days beforehand, due to the preparations for the Fidelius charm; hadn't particularly _wanted_ to see him, either, given their last fight. He'd been wondering if maybe he ought to give in and apologize first, because Sirius was a stubborn bastard and likely wouldn't bend for weeks. He wasn't sure that he had anything to apologize _for_, but Remus was used to making allowances for his friends. For Sirius.

He orders another drink.

Remus is _glad_ he never apologized. That for once, he didn't give in to that…_filth_. That _traitor_. Let the bastard rot in Azkaban; at least that one little victory won't have been his.

_It's like the thing with Snape, sometimes Sirius just doesn't_ think_, but that's all it takes._

Sirius was never good at keeping other people's secrets. Remus supposes he shouldn't have been surprised.

The war is over. Voldemort has been defeated. His only friends are dead. The only person he's ever loved is in Azkaban, and deservedly so. There's nothing and no one left to fight for. But he's still…here. With nothing and no one left with him. He's trapped, still, just as surely as he ever was.

He can't breathe, so he orders another drink.

_I worry about you, Moony. You should get out of here, out of the country, surely there's somewhere—_

"He killed them," Remus informs the bartender, slurring the words. "All of them. But not me. I'll never forgive him for that."

The bartender just eyes him skeptically, then looks away.

_I trust you, Remus, really I do. But you're so close to Sirius right now, and that…I dunno, it just doesn't smell right._

"You were right all along, Peter," Remus whispers. "We never listened to you, but you were right."

His world feels very, very small.

He orders another drink.

*

 

**b. ii.**

"I just spent forty minutes yelling at my mother's portrait and Molly's threatening dire consequences for my using questionable language in the general vicinity of young, impressionable children and I'm not allowed to go fetch my own bloody godson and so if you don't give me that drink, Remus, I swear by all my family's wretched dark blood magic that _I will end you_."

Remus sighs and gives Sirius the flask of firewhisky. "Fine impression you'll be making on Harry if you're completely pissed by the time he gets here," he remarks.

"The boy's seen worse," Sirius mutters, and downs half the flask in one go.

"Yes," Remus says evenly. "He has."

Sirius scowls at him, but he does pocket the flask, which is a good start.

There's a minor commotion from the direction of the kitchen, and a crash; after a moment, Tonks sticks her head out of the doorway. "Sirius, I think I might've broken—"

"You probably did," Sirius agrees. "Yes, it was very old and valuable, in the family for generations. Please break more."

"Right," Tonks says, undaunted. She sees Remus and breaks into a wide grin. "Wotcher, Remus! I'll tell Mad-Eye you've arrived."

She disappears back into the kitchen; Remus holds his breath for a moment, but nothing else seems to be getting destroyed.

"She fancies you, you know," Sirius tells him, looking away. "Daft girl."

"Must run in the family, then," Remus says lightly. "Feeling threatened?"

Sirius doesn't respond. There's a moment, there, where Remus nearly reaches out to him, but then Moody marches out of the kitchen and demands proof of Remus's identity, and the rest of the Order spills out behind him, and the moment is lost.

"How'd you spend the winter after the Dark Lord's first defeat?" Moody barks at him.

"Drunk, mostly," Remus says, and although Moody's eye whirls a bit suspiciously, he accepts it. He does a mental tally of the wizards intending to go off with them tonight, and blinks. "Does it really take this many of us to fetch a fifteen-year-old boy?"

"Safety in numbers," Moody rumbles. "Hard to kill off all of us at once. Makes sure there's at least one trained defender alive to protect the lad."

"Also, half of us have never seen Potter before," Tonks whispers in Remus's ear. "We all deserve a look in, don't we?"

Remus glances over at Sirius, who has retreated to a corner, watching their preparations enviously. "It's not right, keeping him pent in like this," Remus murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

Tonks overhears, though, and shrugs. "No, it's not," she says bluntly. "But there's nothing for it, not if he wants to avoid another trip back to Azkaban."

They set off for Little Whinging, but Remus turns back at the front door, one last time. Sirius is staring after them bleakly, his face grey, as though the stained, darkened walls might swallow him up.

Remus shudders and forces himself to keep following the others, closing the door firmly behind him.

*

 

**a. v.**

Remus pushes the door shut firmly behind him, as though he could close out all the rumors and arguments and silences along with the chill air brought on by this summer thunderstorm. He closes his eyes for a moment with a sigh, then resolutely opens them and steps forward into the shadowed living room of his tiny flat.

There's someone sitting in his armchair.

Remus nearly jumps out of his skin, before the someone hastily murmurs a "_Lumos_!" and his face is lit.

"Peter," Remus says, mentally reminding his heart to start beating again. "You startled me. What are you doing here? What's happened?"

"Sorry," Peter says. His eyes dart around nervously. "Sirius coming over?"

Remus shakes his head and sits heavily onto his very saggy couch. "Hardly. He's holed up with James somewhere, even Lily isn't sure exactly. Rumor has it they're talking about a Fidelius Charm."

"Not surprising," Peter says. "I heard that Dumbledore suggested it. Still, Merlin only knows how long it'll be before they're actually ready to go through with it."

"They should," Remus murmurs. "Just being in hiding doesn't seem to be enough, these days."

Peter cautiously settles back down into the armchair. "I know. But it makes me nervous."

"What?"

"The thought of Sirius as their Secret-Keeper."

Remus rubs his temples, sighing. "We've been through this before, Peter. Sirius would die for James and Lily. And Harry. You know that. I know that. The whole bloody wizarding world knows that."

"Dying for them is the easy part," Peter says softly. "Sirius has always been a great one for grand gestures. But he's not so good with other people's secrets, is he?"

Remus won't think about that. He can't. He's got to trust in _something_, after all. He chooses to trust in Sirius. Even if they're not exactly on speaking terms right now. "Peter, if you've got nothing new to tell me, I've had a long day—"

"Sorry, sorry," Peter says quickly. "I know you don't want to hear it. I'm sorry. I'm just…nervous. I came here to give you this." He pulls a tiny ball of what looks like cloth out from the pocket of his robes, then touches it with the tip of his wand and murmurs something too soft for Remus to make out. The ball expands and unfolds, until it becomes a normal-sized roll of parchment. "Here. Straight from Dumbledore."

"Another mission," Remus says flatly. He eyes his missive with no small amount of resentment, then reluctantly stands and goes to take it from Peter. "I suppose I'm not to tell anyone about this, as usual."

"Not even me," Peter agrees. "Don't open it until I've gone, you know how strict Dumbledore is about these things. Glad to be his personal owl, as always."

"Someone has to do it," Remus says. "Honestly, I'm glad at least it's someone I can trust."

Peter gives him a tight little smile, and moves toward the door.

"Wait," Remus says, reaching out to catch his arm. "Knowing Dumbledore, I'll have to set off immediately. So if you see Sirius—"

"I'll tell him you're off on Order business, like I always do," Peter sighs. He looks searchingly into Remus's face. "You do realize he doesn't always believe me?"

"Yes," Remus says quietly. "I know."

*

 

**c. ii.**

"Yes," Tonks murmurs, smiling pleasantly, looking for all the world as though she were having a simply marvelous time at the Weasley-Delacour wedding, "I know. I _know_ I'd be safer at my parents'. Did it ever occur to you that I'm not interested in staying _safe_ and can we _not have this conversation right now_?"

"Weddings. Families. Children underfoot. I can't help it if the topic is near to my mind at the moment," Remus says, equally softly. Some very young Weasley cousin darts past, nearly tripping himself over Remus's legs; unbidden, memories from the months spent living with Greyback's _pack_ flash into Remus's mind. The children Greyback raised had never been particularly interested in chasing games, but they had certainly become good at _running_. He shudders. "I just keep thinking that given your current _condition_, it might be best for you—"

"I don't recall that making you my husband meant making you sole arbiter of what's _best for me_—"

"—if you stayed at your parents' home, rather than the poorly warded cottage of a known werewolf—"

"We can improve the wards! You seem to forget, I'm a trained Auror, which is more than you can say—"

"Dora," Remus says, trying his best to sound firm while still speaking at hardly more than a whisper, "I just want to protect our child."

She wavers under his gaze, but only just barely. "We will talk about this. At length. When we're not at a bloody _wedding_. Remus, can't we just be happy for five minutes?" She reaches out to touch his face.

Remus flinches away reflexively, and immediately regrets it when he sees the hurt in her eyes. But before he can say anything, Shacklebolt's Patronus lands in the middle of the dance floor with its message and their world flips upside-down.

He can feel the protective wards around the Burrow falter and fail, and he only just glimpses the ominously masked wizards approaching before his wand is out and he's shouting a protective spell. Tonks, beside him, is doing the same.

It's not going to be enough, not even close, and all he can think is – _oh, god, not again, there can't possibly be a spy this time, not another one._

There's little use in fighting, he can see that already, not if the Ministry itself has fallen to Voldemort's forces. His next thought is for Harry – _they must have come for Harry_ – but a quick glance around and he can tell, even amidst the unfolding chaos, that Harry and his two closest friends have already gone.

He grabs his wife's wrist. "Disapparate," he hisses, "_now_, while you've still got a chance!"

"You must be joking," she snaps. "Not on your life!"

A part of him almost hopes to be captured by the Death Eaters; then she'd be _forced_ to do as he asked, and go to her parents for protection, and he wouldn't have to argue with her about it anymore.

He wonders if that makes him a coward.

*

 

**a. iv.**

"I'm not going to argue with you about this anymore," Remus says wearily. "I've been on the run for three days and I'm sorry that you don't believe me but I'm going to fall over in about thirty seconds so I don't really care what you think about anything anymore."

He's not lying about the exhaustion, at least, nor about the blasted Death Eater who's been trailing him for three days. He keeps himself from outright collapsing onto their bed, just barely, but he does sit down very carefully. He thinks the last Stunning spell Dolohov threw at him might have cracked a rib. He's not sure he cares.

Sirius leans against their bedroom doorway, still glowering. But when Remus winces and puts a hand to his (certainly bruised and possibly fractured) ribs, concern does flash across Sirius's face, if only for a moment. It's a start.

"You're hurt," Sirius says, face once again impassive.

"It happens," Remus agrees. "But I don't think he expected me to Apparate while still Stunned, so I'm pretty sure I lost him."

"You could have splinched yourself."

"I'm fairly resilient, as it turns out."

"Yeah," Sirius says. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "You are."

Remus kicks off his shoes and carefully stretches out on the bed, mindful of his many bruises. He closes his eyes.

After a minute, he can hear Sirius take a few steps toward him, then hesitate. "Three weeks," Sirius says hoarsely. "You were gone for _three weeks_, without a word or a clue. No one else in the Order seemed to know anything. Dumbledore refused to even tell me whether or not he'd given you a mission. Full moon came and went and I had no idea how to find you. Dorcas vanished only _days_ after you; we didn't even find her body until yesterday morning. Doge and Moody are sure there's a spy, and they've got Peter and Benjy all worked up about it. I'm sitting here like an idiot, scared out of my mind, wondering if you're dead or if you've turned traitor and not sure which would be worse. And you finally turn up looking like something the Kneazle dragged in, with an excellent story about trying to evade Dolohov but not a damn thing about where you've been or what you've been up to or how _he_ found you in the first place when _I couldn't_. Remus—"

"I can't," Remus says softly. "Sirius, please."

There's a short exhalation of breath, not quite a sigh, and then he can feel Sirius's touch on his cheek. "Sleep," Sirius says. "Just – sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

Footsteps recede; the bedroom door creaks shut. Remus lies alone in the dark, tired in the very marrow of his bones, and can't fall asleep.

_We can't go on like this._

He'll leave, then, early in the morning, while Sirius is still asleep on the couch; take every last scrap of his own meager belongings – he's pretty sure he can fit them all in one bag, even without spelling them smaller – and go to Peter's. Then he'll find his own flat, where he can come and go as Dumbledore orders without having to be yelled at or suspected or nagged by people he's sworn not to tell anything about Dumbledore's fucking secret missions. And he'll be miserable, but he'll survive. That's all that matters now.

Sirius may never forgive him. But when it's over, when the war's been finally lost or won, they'll talk. That's when they'll talk. If either of them are left alive to talk about anything.

Maybe it's the coward's way out, but there are things more important than Remus's precious self-image. He's already come too close to compromising Order secrets to appease Sirius's curiosity. It's not that he doesn't trust Sirius, because he _does_, but sometimes, he doesn't much trust _himself_.

*

 

**c. iii.**

Remus doesn't trust himself with his own wife anymore. He asks, he begs, he orders, but no matter how he starts the conversation, it always ends with her getting her way. And right now, he's convinced that Dora's way is going to end up getting her and their unborn child killed.

Their cottage has been completely ransacked, torn apart as effectively as an explosion might have done. Remus returned there alone after the Death Eaters had gotten tired of interrogating the wedding guests and Tonks had worriedly headed off for her parents' house to check in on them; he wasn't in the place two minutes before he glimpsed the dark figure in the rubble. Purple lightning zigzagged toward him an instant later; he Disapparated just in time.

He supposes the dark wizard trailing him now is Dolohov. The man has always had it in for Remus, for no particular reason he can fathom. Maybe he just really doesn't like werewolves.

It's been three days now, trying to shake him; Remus has barely had a chance to check in with the other Order members, frightened he might draw the Death Eater's attention to anyone else. He Apparates at random, avoiding anywhere Dolohov might expect him to go, returning to hideouts he hasn't used since the first war.

In a long-abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Carlisle, he can still see deep gouges in the walls of one room, and the faintest trace of a decades-old bloodstain in the floorboards. He shudders, and that night, his dreams are full of moonlight and Greyback's snarls.

Eventually, cautiously confident of having rid himself of his pursuer, he circles back to the Burrow, where Arthur fills him in on the latest news – confirmed, rumored, or otherwise. "They used Cruciatus on your in-laws," Arthur tells him softly. "They're all right now, but Nymphadora is frantic with worry for you. You should go to them."

Remus runs a hand across his face, and imagines purple lightning, cutting a jagged scar straight to Dora's heart. "I will," he says.

He does.

He asks her to stay with her parents. He begs. He orders. She refuses. "I'm no safer here than I would be with you," she insists.

She's right, but she's also wrong. Remus would offer her his protection, but _protection_ is the last thing she wants. There's nowhere safe for the wife of a werewolf, anyway. Or for a werewolf's child.

Call him a coward, but he can't stand beside her and watch her die for him. He just _can't_.

If the world has no refuge for them, then someone's going to have to change the world. Right now, there's only one person who might be able to do that. And Remus must do everything in his power to make sure Harry succeeds.

He Apparates to Grimmauld Place.

*

 

**b. vi.**

He Apparates to Grimmauld Place in a daze. His head is still whirling with the events of the past day; it's nearly dawn now, and he's reached a place somewhere far beyond exhaustion. He thinks it might be shock.

It had taken hours to sort out the mess at the Ministry, even after they'd rounded up the remaining children and sent them back to Hogwarts; the official Ministry debriefing had gone on into the wee hours of the morning, and then Dumbledore had to get his own, private interrogation in as well. Remus and Kingsley were the last to be set free. And at some point, it will start to sink in that _Sirius is dead_.

He doesn't bother with any lights, finding his way to the sitting room by sense memory alone. He collapses into an armchair with a sigh.

"Remus?"

Reflexively, he yanks out his wand and gasps a "_Lumos_!"

Tonks is lying on the sofa, pale-faced, propping herself up on one elbow. "I didn't mean to startle you," she says, with the barest hint of humor, "but in fairness, you startled me first."

"Tonks," he says wearily, lowering his wand. He waves a hand, and the lamps in the room light themselves, somewhat dimly. "I thought you'd been taken to St. Mungo's."

The ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Mad-Eye doesn't trust them anymore. He thought the Death Eaters might have set up an ambush to finish us off. I rather think they have better things to do at the moment, but he insisted."

"You're hurt."

She pulls herself more or less up to a sitting position. "The fall hurt more than the spell itself. I'm going to be one massive bruise in the morning, but other than that, I'll be fine. I'm just sorry to've been taken out of the action so early." Her expression turns bitter. "If I'd only kept Bellatrix busy for just a little while longer—"

"Don't," Remus says hoarsely. "There's no use thinking about it. There's nothing you could've done."

Was there anything he could have done? Surely there was. Surely he could have—

"Remus?" Tonks murmurs. She stands, a bit shakily, and crosses the short distance between them. She touches his cheek.

_She fancies you, you know. Daft girl._

He doesn't really want this. He's in shock, he's lonely; he just wants to stop thinking. He's going to regret this.

He cups the back of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss.

"Are you sure?" she whispers, hesitating for an instant.

He can't talk about this, not now, maybe not ever. _She_ wants this, he knows, and it's easier to just go along with it. It definitely makes him a coward. He doesn't care. He doesn't want to grieve alone.

Remus silences her in the only way he knows how, her mouth hot and soft and imperfect against his, and pretends he isn't just trying to escape his past.

*

 

**c. iv.**

"Well, we hope you all have found us again, because otherwise I'm just talking to myself, and I hear next comes seeing pixies in your porridge and getting yourself a nice cozy room next to our old pal Lockhart. But it's no use trying to escape your fate, I suppose. Welcome, friends, to the second broadcast of _Potterwatch_.

"Tonight we've got two correspondents, one of whom you'll remember from last time, and one new addition to our program. Say hello, friends."

"Good evening, River."

"First off, it's a bit of a relief to tell you all that for once, there are no new deaths to report among the magical community. However, we have heard that four Muggle families in Oxfordshire have been reported missing; we hope they've just taken an impromptu vacation to the Continent, but I wouldn't be too optimistic. Let's take a moment to turn our thoughts to friends in hiding, gone for now but never forgotten.

"Thank you. Now, while our Ministry reporter Royal was unable to join us this evening, I know he's passed his news on to our other, er, regular. Two out of two, that makes you a regular, I suppose. Please welcome our lovely correspondent Riddikulus, who can change shapes quick as a boggart but always looks like exactly what you want to see.""

"Wotcher, River."

"Care to fill us in on the latest from the Ministry, Riddikulus?"

"Love to. As you already know, the Muggle-born Registration Commission has continued its search for and interrogation of wizards suspected to lack any Pureblood ancestry. And I can now confirm the rumor that Dementors are in fact being used to intimidate the prisoners. But you may not know that a few days after our last broadcast, what essentially amounted to a mass break-out of suspected Muggle-borns occurred from the Ministry's courtrooms. Included in the list of escapees are Ministry employee Reg Cattermole and his wife Mary. Reg, I wish you and your family well."

"Riddikulus, why would you speculate that such a massive incident hasn't found its way into the _Daily Prophet_?"

"It's a huge embarrassment for the Ministry, River, and in particular to Minister of Magic Thicknesse, as his personal thug Runcorne has been implicated in the escape. And unfortunately, the _Prophet_ doesn't seem to bother exposing anyone but deceased heroes these days."

"Yes, I have noticed that the _Prophet_ seems to be concerning itself overmuch with tarnishing the reputations of fallen soldiers. I hear they're going to run a feature questioning the sanity and practices of former Auror Alastor Moody soon."

"Yes, River, I've heard that as well. I'm not sure exactly who they've been interviewing for the piece – as far as I can tell, the _Prophet_ hasn't yet spoken with anyone who actually knew or worked with Mad-Eye."

"I'm somehow not surprised by that, Riddikulus."

"Nor am I. But no one actually reads the _Prophet_ for real news anymore, do they?"

"If only. Thank you, Riddikulus. And now I'd like to introduce the newest addition to our little team here, whom I hope will become a regular like his wife – er, that is, like our friends Riddikulus and Royal. Welcome to _Potterwatch_, Romulus, whom we deeply suspect has been raised by wolves."

"Er, thank you, River."

"Romulus, I know there are a lot of frightened people out there, and I hear you've a knack for mastering boggarts. Do you have anything to say to help us ward off our worst fears?"

"There's no easy spell to rid us of our inner demons, I'm afraid. And I know that times like these…well, they can bring out the worst in us. It's perfectly understandable – and acceptable – to be afraid. But we must not give ourselves over to our fears, however reasonable they may be. I've found that the best way to live with fear is to put it to use, to keep myself busy. Every little sign and symbol of resistance builds up our strength, however slight it may seem. This radio program, River, is one excellent example. Reach out to people, to your family, friends, and neighbors. Keep reminding them and yourself that we're all in this together, and we'll find a way through. And remember: this evil can and will be vanquished."

"So you do believe, then, that Harry Potter is still alive?"

"I know he must be, River. You-Know-Who would be far too quick to announce his death if it were otherwise. The Ministry and its puppet publication like the _Daily Prophet_ would like us to think that Potter has run off to save his own skin, that he has abandoned us. Nothing could be further from the truth. Harry Potter is out there, working to find a way to defeat the Dark Lord, and we must do everything in our power to buy him as much time as he needs."

"Thanks, Romulus. We're going to have to wrap up for tonight, as I'm not entirely sure how long this location will remain secure, but be assured, _Potterwatch_ will return. Keep searching those airwaves. And keep the faith. Our next password will be 'Sirius.' Good night."

*

 

**a. iii.**

"Sirius—"

"You're thinking again," Sirius murmurs. "I can tell. Stop that." He presses his lips to the base of Remus's throat, making Remus squirm.

"Sirius, there's an Order meeting in twenty – oh, _god_ – minutes."

"Sod it," Sirius says fiercely, unbuttoning Remus's shirt and throwing it aside. "I'm sick to death of those fucking meetings. All we hear is how the Death Eaters are gaining ground, still, and You-Know-Who hasn't been defeated yet, obviously, and by the way, so-and-so's been wounded or captured or what-have-you, and then Mad-Eye throws out a few constant vigilances for good measure, and _nothing whatsoever_ is actually accomplished."

Remus tries to put up some form of resistance, but it's rather difficult when Sirius continues to kiss his neck and firmly direct him towards the bed. He struggles to keep his mind clear. "I know you're frustrated—"

Sirius snorts. "And here I thought I was being so subtle about it."

"Sirius, the Order, it's important. It is. I know it doesn't seem like we're accomplishing much right now—"

"If I have to stake out some moldering old shop for eight hours straight _one more time_—"

"—but the point is, we're making a start of it."

"We've been just starting up for years, then."

"You'd rather rush blindly into danger?"

Sirius says nothing, just looks away, his romantic ardor abruptly forgotten. Remus sighs. Of course he would. Sirius is brilliant at the grand gestures, at thinking on his feet; this interminable waiting game they're playing with the Death Eaters now is going to be the end of him.

Remus reaches out to Sirius, reels him back in. "This stalemate's bound to end soon," he says quietly. "And then like as not we'll wish it hadn't."

"I know," Sirius sighs, and sits on their bed, pulling Remus down beside him. "I just feel so useless right now."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're one of the best fighters the Order has."

"But where's the fight?" Sirius asks bleakly. "I'm just _waiting_. James has got his Auror training to keep him busy, Lily's putting in time at St. Mungo's even though her belly's getting bigger every day, and even _Peter_ is being put to good use as a courier. And you…" He touches Remus's cheek. "I know Dumbledore's keeping in touch with you. Privately."

"I'm a Dark Creature," Remus reminds him. "Of course he's going to exploit that for all it's worth, I'd expect no less of him."

"What's he having you—"

Remus shakes his head. "I can't tell you, Sirius, you know that. I can't tell _anyone_."

"I know," Sirius mutters. "I know."

"I'm sure you've got standing orders you can't tell me about, either," Remus says.

Sirius doesn't deny it.

"So," Remus says, trying a smile, "it seems we _do_ both have something to do, even if it's not particularly exciting."

"I'm not good with boring," Sirius sighs.

"Yeah," Remus says. "I know." He studies Sirius's face for a moment, then grins and in one swift, fluid movement, shoves him to the bed and straddles him.

Sirius blinks up at him. "Remus?"

"I'm not much good with boring, either," Remus says, still grinning. "Despite all appearances to the contrary." He leans down and presses his lips to Sirius's collarbone, his fingers deftly working between them to undo Sirius's trousers.

"What about the Order meeting?" Sirius manages, just barely.

"Fuck it." Remus kisses his way up to Sirius's ear. "There are other forms of resistance," he murmurs. "For example, just picture the look on your many Death Eater relatives' faces if they were to discover exactly what sort of Dark Creature you're buggering."

"Well," Sirius says thoughtfully, his grey eyes gleaming, "we all must do what we can for the resistance, no matter how trying the tasks given us—"

Remus bites his earlobe, then settles in to enjoying the task at hand.

*

 

**b. iv.**

"Black," Moody barks from across the table, "if you can't seem to manage to pay attention to the matters at hand—"

Sirius jerks his head up and seems to notice the rest of the Order for the first time since the meeting started an hour ago. "Sorry," he mumbles, looking somewhat abashed. "Look, it's – it's Buckbeak's feeding time, I've just remembered, I'll be back in a few minutes." He shoves his chair back, accidentally elbowing Tonks in her shoulder, and pushes his way out of the room.

Everyone else automatically looks to Remus, who sighs. He sometimes wishes they didn't _all_ think of him as Sirius's keeper. "I'll see to him, then, shall I," he says, and quietly gets up and goes after Sirius. He doesn't really mind; to be honest, the meeting has been deadly dull today, as there's nothing much new to report and they're all just cycling through the same arguments they always do, getting nowhere.

Unsurprisingly, he doesn't actually find Sirius in Buckbeak's room. Sirius is sitting at the foot of the staircase leading to the attic, staring absently into space. Remus sits on the stair next to him, and waits.

"I was just remembering," Sirius finally says, "the Order meetings from before. They were just as dull and pointless back then, of course, but they seemed – more hopeful, somehow. Maybe just because we were young and stupid and thought we could take over the world, given half a chance."

Remus says nothing, just shifts a bit closer, pressing his shoulder against Sirius's.

"And James," Sirius goes on, half-smiling. "He would always sit just across from me, you know, and pull faces when he thought the old guard weren't looking."

_Tonks does that sometimes_, Remus thinks. _Only she's better at it than James ever was, but I suppose she has an unfair advantage._

Sirius is still talking, eyes distant. "Dumbledore caught him at it once, even, but he didn't say anything, just smiled and shook his head at him once James had looked away. We just all had…lighter spirits, back then. More possibility."

Remus remembers it differently. Sirius was just as frustrated back during the first war, and very nearly as angry. He remembers the crushing despair that settled over them all, as the deaths mounted and suspicions ran rampant. He remembers mistrust and a pervading _fear_, the worry that nothing they did could ever possibly be enough. Now, the shadows are indeed darkening, but they have a sense of hope that they'd never had before: hope in the form of an angry, frustrated fifteen-year-old boy, with a scar and a prophecy, and the chance, however small, of setting things to rights for once and for all.

But he doesn't say anything to Sirius. If Sirius's rose-tinted memories give him the strength to keep resisting, then Remus will not rob him of them.

"Actually," Remus remarks lightly, "I mostly remember _not_ going to Order meetings, thanks to you."

Sirius looks at him, and for an instant, the years fall away, and there's a wicked glint in his eye. Remus gives him a small, private smile, and Sirius laughs.

*

 

**a. ii.**

Sirius laughs outright at the look on Remus's face. "What?" he asks, amused. "You didn't think I'd hole up in some manky little flat in Knockturn Alley like Peter, did you?"

"It's just so…" Remus trails off, trying to find the words. _Clean_ Sirius might take offense at; and besides, he's only just moved in. _Shiny_ sounds silly. _Frighteningly expensive looking_ is about right, but that just draws attention to the loads of money Remus _hasn't_ inherited from a fabulously rich uncle lately. "Large," he settles on. "How much space do you _need_, Sirius?"

"I intend to throw parties on a weekly basis," Sirius says loftily. "Possibly daily. Very big parties. Everyone we've ever known at school, and any members of the Order who aren't afraid that alcohol might lower their state of constant vigilance."

"Right," Remus says. God, he feels shabbier by the minute just _standing_ here. "So…you don't mind, then? If I stay over? It's only for a few days, just until I can find my own place."

"It's fine," Sirius says, an odd light in his eyes. "You know it's fine. Sharing a room, it'll be just like school, yeah? Except without James's snoring and Peter's smelly socks."

"And accidentally catching Lily in her knickers."

"_That_ I'll miss," Sirius remarks fondly. "They were red. _Red_, the wanton hussy. Red as her glorious hair. Red as her face when she realized I was watching. I shall forever hold the memory of Lily's knickers near and dear to my heart. A couple of minutes later, and I might've seen her in the altogether."

"Alas," Remus says dryly. "Well, you could yet see _me_ in the altogether. If you'd like."

"It's a perk," Sirius agrees, and leans in to kiss him.

It's been a couple of months now since they started up, since just before graduation, but it still feels new to Remus, surprising. He twines his fingers through Sirius's thick, dark hair, and kisses him back.

Eventually, the irritating necessity of breathing intervenes, and Remus pulls back a bit. Sirius's eyes seem somehow darker, up close; or maybe it's just the intensity of his gaze. "You could, you know," Sirius says softly, "stay. Not just for a couple of nights. For as long as you like. I wouldn't mind."

Remus's brain short-circuits; it takes a few long moments for what Sirius means to sink in. "I can't," Remus says. "You know I couldn't afford to go halves on rent here, you _know_ that."

"So?" Sirius asks. "I don't care, it's just money, it doesn't matter to me."

"It matters to me," Remus whispers.

"It shouldn't," Sirius says fiercely. "Just because no one died and left you a massive inheritance, it's not fair, but I've got this huge flat and it's silly for you to starve on the streets because I _know_ you haven't been able to hold down a job, Remus, which you shouldn't have tried to hide from us but Peter figured it out anyway, and that's not fair either, so for fuck's sake will you just move in here and let's not argue about it?"

He should say no. It's not right, living off Sirius. He's got more pride than this. But Sirius's breath is hot on his lips and Remus has never cared less what he should or shouldn't do. "Yeah," he says. "All right."

*

 

**b. i.**

"All right, that should do it," Sirius grunts, stepping back. "I don't think the knocker will try to bite you now."

Remus eyes the front door to number twelve Grimmauld Place with some trepidation. He's only been here once before, on summer holidays sometime during their school years, and had never actually made it inside. Between the treacherous silver knocker and Sirius's mother's cold stare as she opened the door, he'd fled quickly. Sirius had followed suit shortly afterward.

But the door opens meekly enough when Remus pushes on it, and he gets inside without any further incident. The front hall is dark, the sort of murky dimness that reeks of mold and dust and ancient magic. "So," Remus says.

"Horrid, isn't it?" Sirius remarks, and steps up beside him. He sounds almost cheerful, oddly enough. "But the family's surely rolling over in their respective graves at the thought of what I'm going to do with the place, and that's a comfort."

He seems to be having a good day, which is a relief; it seems rather touch and go, these days. Remus wonders if Dumbledore has told Sirius yet that he's not going to be allowed to leave this place, now that he's offered it up to the Order. Probably not. Well, Remus certainly isn't going to be the one to bring it up, not when he's been fighting Dumbledore's decision ever since he first heard of it.

"How's the rest of the place holding up?" Remus asks, looking around cautiously.

"Miserably," Sirius says. "It's going to be a hell of a time getting it sorted, what with the doxies and the boggart upstairs and twelve hundred other problems I haven't yet stumbled across; it'll be some time before we've gotten the house ready and suitable for Har—er, for the Order to move in. And Dumbledore's coming by in a few hours to set up the Fidelius, we've got to at least get the kitchen clear by then." He moves as though to get the chaos properly begun.

"Sirius," Remus says softly, catching his arm, and when Sirius turns, Remus carefully draws him in and kisses him. He has a feeling they're not going to have many more private moments like this, not once the Order has set up shop here. "Slow down," he murmurs against Sirius's lips. "We've got time."

"I know," Sirius says. "I just want – I want to turn this hellhole into a home. A proper home, for Harry."

"We will," Remus tells him, and for a moment, he allows himself to hope it might all work out that easily.

*

 

**c. v.**

It'll all work out. It'll be fine. It's just childbirth, happens every day, all the time, and just because it's Remus's wife and Remus's child doesn't mean anything will go wrong.

He paces up and down the hall, wearing through the frighteningly expensive looking Oriental rug his mother-in-law probably nicked from her ancestral home before the family kicked her out. In that bedroom, right there, Dora is giving birth to their child. Andromeda cast a Silencing spell on the room; it was probably intended to keep Remus from fretting, but if anything, it's doing the opposite, as he frantically wonders what exactly is going on in there that he can't see or hear.

They'd long since decided it was too risky to go to St. Mungo's for the delivery; Andromeda assured him that she'd learned all the necessary charms and techniques during a brief stint as a Healer during the first war; she'd managed to deliver her own daughter well enough, and (she muttered darkly) Merlin only knew she'd helped out a girlfriend or two from school who'd found themselves in a spot of trouble. Remus refrained from questioning her further.

But maybe it was the wrong choice, after all; shouldn't Dora have the best care the wizarding world could provide? A local village midwife, even?

And oh god, the _child_. All the doubts and fears he's forcibly repressed over the past months are back, gnawing at him, darkening his thoughts. What if it turns out like _him_? How does one care for a werewolf infant? Even Greyback had never managed to turn one so young; Remus darkly thinks that Greyback would probably be _proud_ of him for this, and it makes him feel slightly ill.

_Another monster, like me._

The door opens abruptly, without warning, and Remus nearly jumps out of his skin.

"It's done," Andromeda says quietly. She pushes back an errant strand of her hair, come loose from its braid, and smiles. "Come meet my grandchild, Remus. Your son."

Remus steps forward into the room cautiously, his mind a whirling chasm. Dora is lying in the bed, sweaty and exhausted. She looks radiant. She's cuddling a tiny bundle in her arms.

_My son._

She looks up and smiles, albeit tiredly. "He's beautiful," she whispers. "Remus, come look."

He goes to her – to them. He can't breathe. It's wonderful. It's terrifying.

Their son has dark, wispy hair, a little snub of a nose, and tiny, perfect fingers. He's sleeping, as worn out as his mother, every breath he takes a wonder. As Remus tentatively touches his cheek, the baby's hair seems to lighten a fraction, taking on a reddish tint. Remus glances at his wife's face in awe. "He's like you."

She grins, touching their child's changing hair. "Like me," she agrees. "But I think his face takes more after you."

"How can we ever be sure?" Remus says, his laugh catching in his throat. "If he'll be changing it every five minutes?"

She nods, beaming, then turns more serious. "I'd like to name him for my father," she tells him. "Ted. Teddy Remus Lupin."

"Teddy," he whispers, and touches Teddy's cheek again. He's so _soft_.

Everything's going to be all right, after all.

*

 

**b. v.**

And after all these months of planning and simmering and wondering and waiting, suddenly everything was happening _now_, at once, too fast.

"The Ministry," Remus tells him tersely. "Department of Mysteries. Harry's gone, several of his friends as well, Snape says. It's a trap, it must be. Tonks and Mad-Eye are waiting, they've already contacted Kingsley. I've got to go at once."

Sirius is on his feet in an instant, his eyes glittering. "I'm going with you."

"Sirius, you know you can't—"

"Like hell I can't!" he shouts, brandishing his wand as though he might actually point it at Remus. "That's _my godson_ in there, in _danger_, and if you dare to tell me that I have to sit in this godforsaken hovel and _wait_—"

"Sirius, please, listen to me," Remus says urgently, catching Sirius's wrist and gripping it tightly. "There's an obscenely large price on your head right now, set _by the Ministry_, which is exactly where we have to go. If they catch you—"

"I don't care," Sirius tells him. He stands up as tall as possible, his eyes dark with a burning intensity. "Harry's in trouble and I've got to help get him out of it. I don't have a choice, Remus, please don't try to stop me."

Remus's heart is beating with painful intensity, the adrenalin of anticipation and fear for Harry and fear for the unnamed other students with him (Ron and Hermione, surely; but are there others as well, these _children_ he taught?) and fear for himself and fear for Sirius making his breath catch in his throat. "It's not safe for you," he insists.

"I don't want to be safe," Sirius says, voice strange and soft. "I've been safely locked up in here for the better part of a year. I'm through with being _safe_, Remus. I'd rather be _alive_."

And Remus can't say no, not to Sirius, not when it's this important. Not when he has the power to set Sirius free. "All right," he whispers. He clears his throat and lets go of Sirius's wrist. "Let's go."

Abruptly, Sirius grabs his shoulders and kisses him fiercely, desperately. Remus returns the kiss without restraint, without looking over his shoulder to make sure no one's there, without caring about anything but this.

It's too brief, it has to be, and so Sirius releases him. He grins, looking like his old self, free at last to _fight_. To live.

"Let's go hurt some Death Eaters," Sirius says, laughing breathlessly, and they go.

*

 

**c. vi.**

"Let's go, let's _go_," Remus mutters under his breath, hardly even aware he's talking to himself. He's been locked in this duel with Dolohov for five minutes or five hours, he can't tell anymore; they've been interrupted more times than he can recall, out here in the thick of things, having to suddenly break off to dodge a misdirected hex or curse. Remus is doubly hindered by his foolish concern for others; his former _students_ are out here, fighting, getting themselves wounded, and Remus is damned if he'll allow them to draw any of the fire meant for _him_.

He's been trying to draw Dolohov away from the main battle, to little avail; they're not at the very center of the fighting anymore, but they're not exactly in a nice isolated spot of their very own, either. Remus is getting tired; he has a gash on his forehead that's shallow but still bleeding sluggishly, and he's worried about blood getting in his eyes and making him just that much slower. Dolohov seems grimly determined, bent on finishing him, ignoring the various cuts and bruises he himself is acquiring.

Remus has to finish this. He dodges and parries almost mindlessly, looking for any sign of weakness; Dolohov's too wary of his own reserves of strength to try throwing the Killing Curse out willy-nilly, and that at least is a small blessing; some of the less sane Death Eaters wouldn't be so careful with themselves.

"Come on," Remus says through gritted teeth. "Come _on_."

"_Remus_!"

No.

Oh, no.

He glances over his shoulder, just for a second, to see his wife fighting her way through the battle, towards him, her eyes bright and desperate.

It's only for a second, and then he focuses back on Dolohov, but a second is all it takes; the hex rips through his right arm, and he can _feel_ the bones shatter with the impact. He bites back a scream and switches his wand to his other hand, but the pain is staggering and he's just a touch slower with his left hand, more awkward.

He keeps fighting. He has no other choice.

There's a sudden warmth at his back; Dora is there, back-to-back with him, fighting her own battles. "Teddy," he mutters.

"With my mother," she gasps out. "I'm an Auror, Remus. I belong _here_. Fighting. With you."

They manage to push back their respective foes, lose them in the confusion, just for a few moments, just long enough that they can turn for a second and meet each others' eyes.

For the first time, she's let drop her enchantments, all of them, all the little quirks and features she so effortlessly and unconsciously maintains. Her chin comes up, pure defiance; her neck arches arrogantly; her unmodified hair ripples down to her shoulders, dark and soft. Her dark eyes are lit with fierce pride and determination. She is, he realizes, a Black to the core, however she might usually pretend otherwise. She would have made a formidable Marauder. She has never been so beautiful.

He hears a shriek of triumph, and looks out to see Bellatrix, mad and gleeful, bearing down upon them. Dolohov is coming back up from the other direction. There's no hope for it. There's no time to say anything more.

Their son is safe; the world will become a better place for him, once this is all over, and Nymphadora Tonks is here, fighting at his side, exactly as she wishes it to be. There's nothing left but to fight.

Sirius's voice in his ear, as though he were standing beside them: _I'm through with being safe, Remus. I'd rather be alive._

Remus feels completely free, maybe for the first time in his life.

"All right then," he shouts, and feels her hand brush his wrist. "Let's finish this." They both raise their wands. Dolohov is descending upon Remus with utter determination; he's sure, though he can't see, that Bellatrix has nearly reached her niece as well. "On three. One. Two. Three—!"

*

 

**a. i.**

"On three," Remus says, grinning, his knees bent. "One. Two – _hey_!"

Sirius, the cheating bastard, makes an early start of it; Remus pushes off an instant later, his legs pumping furiously to catch up, but there's no hope for it. Sirius wins the race easily, tagging the gnarled old oak at the edge of the Forbidden Forest with reckless abandon and laughing at Remus's indignation.

"Cheater," Remus gasps.

"The only way to win," Sirius agrees, lounging against the tree. He's breathing a bit heavily himself.

"Is it?" Remus inquires, and is on top of him in a flash, knocking him to the ground and pinning him there, laughing at the sheer shock on Sirius's face. "What, can't take your own sauce?"

Their eyes meet, and suddenly Remus is very aware of Sirius's warm body under his own, the flecks of pure silver in Sirius's grey eyes, the heat of Sirius's breath against his cheek. Sirius is still breathing heavily, but it's taken on a different tenor, somehow; his eyes are very wide. Remus finds his gaze drifting down to Sirius's mouth; as if unconsciously, Sirius's lips part.

Remus is occasionally oblivious and sometimes a bit of a coward, but he has never been an idiot. He leans down, closing the inch of space between them, and presses his lips to Sirius's.

Sirius doesn't even hesitate, just opens his mouth a bit and licks at Remus's lips, and that's all it takes; they're snogging, full on, tongues meeting and clashing, hands roving across each other's chests and shoulders and Sirius's fingers twining through Remus's short hair.

It lasts five hours. It lasts five seconds. Remus hasn't the faintest idea. He just wants _more_.

"God," Sirius finally gasps out, pushing Remus back a bit. "Years we've had, seeing each other every bloody day, _living_ in the same _sodding_ room, and you wait until four days before graduation to do that?"

"Yeah," Remus says, laughing. "I guess so."

"God," Sirius says again.

They grin stupidly at each other for a minute, but Remus's legs are all twisted up and his back has known several more comfortable positions, so he reluctantly pulls himself away from Sirius and stands, offering a hand to Sirius. Sirius takes it, pulling himself upright as well, brushing the dirt and leaves off his robes.

"You will visit me," Sirius instructs him. "Often. Daily. Multiple times daily."

"Well, we _are_ both joining Dumbledore's little army," Remus reminds him. His face hurts from smiling so widely. "I hardly think we'll be able to avoid each other."

"Right," Sirius says. "The Order of the Phoenix. Fighting for liberty and justice for all, and all that rot. And snogging. We should fight for snogging. Also for sex. There _can_ be sex, right?"

"Not out here on the Hogwarts grounds, I should hope," Remus remarks, not particularly surprised that they've gone from their first kiss to probably imminent sex in the space of ten minutes. This is _Sirius_, after all.

"Sex _anywhere we like_," Sirius insists, gesticulating wildly. "We shall have victory! Over everything everywhere!"

"Going to take over the world, are we?" Remus asks, grinning.

Sirius shrugs, somehow decadently, and throws an arm across Remus's shoulders, pulling him close. "Might do. If we've a mind to." He tilts his head up to brush Remus's lips with his own. "Shouldn't be too difficult, what d'you think?"

Remus laughs, and lets himself believe.


End file.
